


Friday Nights

by lorij (Murphtastic)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, creeping in an alley, voyeur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murphtastic/pseuds/lorij
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley on his night off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday Nights

Hot, sticky Friday night. One where even the smallest movement makes you sweat. Everyone sweats on nights like these. Everyone. Even Wesley. 

Wesley doesn't mind though. Sweating. He used to hate it, but that was before.

Before he met Angel.

Angel, who haunted his fantasies. Made them so hot that Wesley had to get used to sweating. 

But not tonight. Tonight's Friday. 

Wesley laid claim to Friday nights two months ago. He informed an expressionless Angel that he needed at least o ne day a week off and Friday was it. Cordelia had arched her perfectly plucked eyebrows but made no comment. Gunn had shrugged and went back to sharpening stakes. 

And what does a gay, possibly bi-sexual, ex-Watcher turned rogue demon hunter turned crusader in the fight to save humanity, do on a Friday night?

He pulls on his leather pants and requisite tight black t-shirt and goes clubbing.

So easy to get lost in the crowd. Easy but not at all fulfilling. Wesley has gotten lost in the crowd too many times in his life, so no more of that. No, people know Wesley on sight these days. They call his name and invite him to dance, maybe even buy him a drink.

And he says yes. Because Wesley doesn't have to pretend with these people. They can see right through his fa\'e7ade. Serious, soft-spoken Wesley is nowhere to be found on Friday nights. There is no Wesley. 

There's Wes. 

Wes isn't afraid to do or say what he feels. Wes doesn't wear glasses, doesn't need to hide behind them or take them on and off when he is nervous. Wes flirts with everyone, dances with a few people, kisses even fewer.

Everyone knows that Wes is *selective*. He won't fuck just anyone. You have to be special.

If you want a chance with Wes you better not be anything but tall, dark, and handsome. 'Wes accepts no substitutes' is what gets whispered among the patrons of the L.A. club scene.

So it's Wes that steps into the club. Confident and cool except for the sweat trickling down his back. Hyper aware of his surroundings, scouting the crowd for so meone to make him forget. Forget his never-to-be-spoken-of attraction to his boss. If only for a little while. 

Someone hands him a glass. His favorite, vodka on the rocks. Wes never has to pay for his drinks, those around him insist on buying. He takes a sip and savors the feeling of the cold alcohol sliding down his throat. Perfect for a hot Friday night.

Nodding at several familiar faces, Wes makes his way through the throngs of people; aware of appreciative glances sent his way. Wes knows better than anyone the power of sexual attraction. It can bind you to someone before you're even aware of it.

And isn't that why he's here tonight? Because he can't get what he needs from Angel?

Maybe.

But maybe he's just here to get fucked.

Several hours and many drinks later Wes sees him. Tall, dark hair, dressed all in black. Perfect face and body to match. Not who he really wants but does it matter? He can't have Angel so this stranger will have to do.

Decision made, Wes downs the rest of his drink and pushes h imself off the bar. Wesley, tucked into his cage for the night, reminds him that he's engaging in rather self-destructive behavior. Wes tells him to fuck off and die. Wesley says that some day he might and then where will Wes be? 

No time to think about it, though, because tall and dark has noticed his approach and is preening. He can preen all he wants, but Wes still won't remember his name an hour later.

It takes little convincing to get the man into the alley behind the club. Wes pushes the man to his knees and waits expectantly. The man, Dave maybe? wastes no time in pulling Wes' dick out and going to town.

Wes closes his eyes and imagines, like he always does, that it's Angel sucking him off. Angel's hands squeezing his ass while Wes fucks his mouth. He has to tweak his fantasy a bit; because he knows that Angel's mouth would never be this warm, but no matter.

Thoughts of Angel on his knees excites Wes further and he grabs the man's head so he can shove his dick in harder and faster. He can hear gagging sounds but ignores them. The guy came out here to get fucked just like Wes did, so there's no guilt on Wes' part. 

Hot, wet, not-so-willing-anymore mouth that Wes fucks a little harder because he can. Because it's not Angel. Can't fuck Angel's mouth because Angel keeps everyone at arms length. Can't love Angel because Angel won't let him. 

Can't have Angel. 

Can't. 

Thrusting faster now, closing his ears to the whimpering noises. Ignoring the hands trying to push him away. Wes doesn't let go. Can't let go. This is all he has. 

Wes makes no sound as he comes. Just floods the man's mouth with his seed and untangles his fingers from dark hair that isn't anything like Angel's. The man pulls away, choking and spitting Wes' come out onto the cracked and dirty pavement. 

The man is pissed and Wes understands. Use someone like a whore and they're going to be pissed. 

Wes watches with interest as the man stands up and tells Wes to get down on his knees. 

He drops to the ground without hesitation.

Now it's Wes who's sucking cock and trying to imagine that it's Angel. But Angel would never be this rough. Or maybe he would, just that Wes would enjoy it more *because* it's Angel. 

Can't escape reality, though.

Wes, on his knees in a dirty alley, getting suffocated by some strange dick. The man is holding his head in a punishing grip and his stomach brushes Wes' nose on every thrust forward. Wes rides it out, knowing the man can't last long. 

Minutes later it's all over and Wes is the one spitting onto the pavement. His mouth and throat are sore, but he has no one to blame but himself. The man zips up and heads back into the club, leaving Wes still on his knees.

Wes spits again and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Looks down the alley at the shadowy figure that's been there the whole time, watching it all.

"Same time next week, then?" 

Wes imagines he can see the black coat flaring as Angel turns and walks away. Away from someone that loves him. Again.


End file.
